On July 26, 2025, in the coastal village of Matupit, East New Britain, a man was laid to rest whose influence far exceeded his public profile. Matalau Nakikus, best known nationally as a founding member of the iconic Barike Band, was also a constitutional drafter, legal reformer, educator, and one of the quiet architects behind East New Britain's modern push for greater autonomy within the Papua New Guinea state. He died in Port Moresby after a prolonged illness, aged 67.
For many, Nakikus was a cultural icon. Barike, with its distinctive Kuanua harmonies and East New Britain rhythms, gave voice to a generation grappling with post-independence identity. But to those who worked alongside him in government, academia, or law, he was something more: a bridge between grassroots and institutions, between culture and policy.
In a country where the spotlight rarely falls on those who draft the laws rather than debate them, Nakikus represented a rare blend of intellectual clarity and community grounding. He was one of the few Papua New Guineans who operated comfortably in multiple spheres — music, education, public service, and legal reform — and whose impact is embedded not in headlines but in systems, frameworks, and people.
His work in recent years centred on a politically sensitive and complex project: the legal framework for East New Britain’s autonomy aspirations. As a senior member of the province’s Autonomy Secretariat, Nakikus helped draft proposals that sought to define what localized governance could look like in practice — not just aspirationally, but constitutionally. This included designing an organic law tailored to East New Britain's unique administrative and cultural landscape and navigating the fraught terrain of devolved administrative, financial, and political powers.
This work, though largely under the radar, intersects directly with one of PNG’s most consequential governance questions: how to reconcile the country's highly centralised political structure with its equally decentralised social realities. Since independence in 1975, successive governments have grappled with demands for greater provincial control — particularly in resource-rich or culturally distinct regions. Bougainville’s bid for full independence is the most prominent example, but East New Britain’s more moderate autonomy push speaks to a broader national appetite for governance models that respond more directly to local conditions.
Nakikus’s contributions to this debate were characteristically behind the scenes. Those who knew him — like his colleague Patrick Varagat — recall a man who was “a jack of all trades,” equally at ease drafting legislation, training local ward councillors, or clearing church grounds with fellow students. His legal knowledge was matched by his practical instinct: that systems are only as strong as the people who implement them, and that lawmaking must be accessible to those at the margins of governance.
The fact that he began his professional life as a schoolteacher — graduating from Goroka Teachers College and influencing generations of students — only reinforces the breadth of his public service. It also reflects a broader East New Britain tradition of intellectual and civic leadership that has continued despite significant adversity. Matupit village itself, frequently cited as a community devastated by the 1994 Rabaul volcanic eruption, has also produced an outsized share of PNG’s human capital in education, law, sport, and music. Nakikus embodied this paradox: emerging from devastation, but choosing to build — through ideas, advocacy, and action.
As PNG continues to debate how to evolve its state structure—whether through decentralisation, regional autonomy, or strengthened local governance—the example of Matalau Nakikus offers a template that is both principled and pragmatic. His work was grounded in the belief that autonomy is not merely about asserting provincial identity, but about designing systems that deliver better outcomes to people on the ground. In this respect, he was not just a musician, teacher, or lawyer — he was a state-builder.
In a nation often preoccupied with political theatrics and elite manoeuvring, Nakikus’s passing is a quiet but significant loss. His legacy will live on not in slogans, but in statutes. And in Matupit, the village that shaped him, he returns home not just as a son, but as a foundational figure in East New Britain’s evolving story of autonomy and identity.